Armor
by toomuchconflict
Summary: Three times Shepard wound up in the infirmary, and three times Chakwas came to understand something about the Commander.


Chakwas had seen many legends during her long years of service. She had seen many of them rise, even more of them fall--some under her own watch, most in far away places beyond her reach.

Yes, heroes perished just like anyone else. And, regrettably, always much earlier than any of them deserved. As individuals they were all varied, never the same. But as heroes, she had found that they all seemed to share a certain unfortunate trait.

What worried her about Shepard, was that he just happened to have good reasons for his obstinacy.

"Really, Commander. They do provide you with helmets."

He had the sense, at least, to look appropriately sheepish.

"I needed the maneuve--tch!"

He jerked back, away from the spray of disinfectant in her hand. She waited, indulgent, for him to get over his surprise and lean forward again. He gave her a wary look before complying.

"You know, sometimes I think you're secretly a bit of a sadist," he said after a while. She leaned back to catch the smile.

"I would advise against such witticisms in here, Commander. I _am_ in the possession of several sharp instruments."

He laughed. "You're not helping your case, Doctor."

* * *

A long time ago, though in reality it had been only two years, the Commander had come back from the Citadel with not one, but three aliens to add to the crew. Chakwas remembered being intimidated, at first, not having worked with aliens since medical school.

She should not have worried herself. Shepard was the ideal leader, from a doctor's point of view--he always kept his squad as safe as he could, and did not feel the need for false bravado or skimping on first aid in the field.

The new recruits, as she later learned, also happened to have fairly good heads about them; Tali and Liara were always careful, and never needlessly shied away when they needed her help. Wrex she saw rarely, krogan physiology and behaviour being what they were, and even then he had the experience to know more or less what to do with each injury. She often only needed to provide him with the necessary supplies.

Garrus was always the worst, though admittedly not even that was saying much. He had the skill to come out clean from most scrapes, but that reckless streak of his had her revising her knowledge on turian physiology a bit more often than she would have preferred.

Chakwas still felt loss for every patient she failed, still felt that sense of panic claw at the back of her throat when a friend had been injured. But there was almost a switch at the back of her mind that she could flip to distance herself from the emotions, to do what she could and what was necessary.

When she learned that the rather mangled turian they were bringing in from Omega was Garrus, the pain was momentarily strong enough to choke. But she forced it down. That was what she did. Indeed, there was something almost like a joke at the back of her head as she worked--she had had nothing but human patients for the last two years, and would have been understandably rusty; So Garrus' previous aptitude for injuring himself turned out to have been a bit of a blessing in disguise.

Chakwas ran into Miranda a few hours afterward, coming down from the mellow high of a life saved, trying to resume eating her share of what Gardner passed off as food. Shepard had apparently been injured as well. No, of course he had not come down to see her. Miranda's description did not sound like anything that would not heal by itself to Chakwas, but Miranda was insistent--too much Cerberus money put into one man to have him drop dead from something like an overlooked infection, Chakwas supposed.

She caught him heading toward the battery some time later. She had to resort to physically pulling him along to even get him into the med-bay.

"It's fine, I barely feel it anymore," Shepard insisted, even as Chakwas was rather forcefully guiding him to sit on one of the beds.

"Then this won't take a moment. Take off your shirt," Chakwas said smartly, and stepped over to her table to pick up a scanner.

He let out a long sigh, but did as she asked. Chakwas did not even need the scanner to see that he was already healing, far faster than any other human would. She poked about a bit regardless, did a cursory scan of his cybernetics, and spread a bit of cooling gel over the bruises.

He looked progressively worse the longer she kept him, but it was not a worsening she could heal with salves or bandages. He began to let down his guard, lulled by the silence in the med-bay. He looked tired, pale--drawn and a little lost.

She had seen this before: in survivors of tragedies, in soldiers whose comrades could not be saved. She can patch them up, pat them on the back--but she has always found her shoulders too taxed to lend them, with no room left to cry on.

But seeing the look on Shepard's face unsettled her. However the commander coped with the pressures of his position, however he came to terms with the gravity of his responsibilities, he had always done so in private. For it to have come this far...

"You were going to see Garrus, weren't you, Commander?" she asked, setting down the last of her equipment. Chakwas leaned back against her desk. Shepard leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared down something invisible on the floor.

He did not answer. She faltered; Maybe it wasn't her place.

"He'll be fine," she blurted out when the silence began to oppress, "but you will have to remind him to come in for regular check-ups. I don't know if I trust Garrus to remember."

"Right," Shepard said under his breath, some of the intensity in his gaze draining away. He glanced up at her, then looked out of the window and far out into the corridor.

"Even at the risk of sounding like a complete nutcase..." he began, then trailed off.

"I'll always listen, Commander. I hope you know that," she said, meaning every word.

"...I thought he was gone. I really did."

His voice was heavy, bitter. Nothing quite like she had ever heard from him.

"When he went down, I could tell it was bad. Sometime during the battle, I decided that it had to be too late for him. I thought I was walking to a corpse."

Shepard paused, turning his gaze back to the floor.

"And I barely felt anything. Some remnant bit of regret, maybe, for failing him. But I thought a comrade--a friend was dead, and all I could think was 'what a waste'. Over and over, that same platitude."

He let out a bitter laugh. "And then the bastard was breathing again. And--and it hurt way worse than getting fucking spaced ever did. That I had been ready to give up on him. That there was hope--that it could go away and this time I wouldn't be in a safe bubble of grim acceptance when it happened."

Shepard fell silent, did not look up. Chakwas felt like she understood. She just wished there were some way she could put it into words that _mattered_. Maybe, instead, some measure of comfort would be understood by her mere continued presence.

After a while, Shepard lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He glanced up at Chakwas, a familiarly sheepish look on his features.

"Sorry, didn't mean to just unload on you like that."

"No, it's alright," Chakwas said quickly, standing up.

"I understand what you mean. I..." She swallowed her words, hating this fumbling feeling that had taken over her mind just when she needed eloquence the most. "I think that... at least some form of that same feeling is familiar to any soldier, Commander. To me, as well."

He was watching her. A careful smile spread over his lips as she finished speaking.

"Thanks, doc. I mean it."

She nodded, managed an awkward smile back. He nodded as well, then stood and tested his injured shoulder.

"Well, feels as good as new. Am I free to go?"

"If you feel up to it," Chakwas answered, both relieved and amused at his quick comeback.

"I'll get you that brandy next time, Doctor."

* * *

They had intercepted yet another distress signal. It was supposed to be a routine survey and pickup, and she had not bothered to prepare herself for more than the usual bruises and contusions.

Instead, what she got was a panicked and disjointed emergency message from the shuttle in the middle of lunch (again). They had been ambushed, pushed back to the shuttle in a matter of moments. From what she was able to make out, Chakwas came to understand that at least Taylor and Shepard had been injured--Shepard badly enough to make him lose consciousness. Tali was the one relaying the message. She sounded distraught, but did not mention any injury of her own.

Whatever crew was idle was hers to command in a medical emergency. Chakwas sent a few assistants to bring in the patients from the shuttle, while she, Mordin and Patel set about preparing the equipment.

Doctor Solus had more experience with diseases and disorders than with trauma treatment, but he was quick enough with his hands, and Chakwas could not complain. It had annoyed her a little in the beginning, that a man technically half her age and in possession of only three digits could wrap up a wound quicker than she, but professional jealousy tended take a backseat in the wake of all the work that could be done with more than one set of able hands available.

Which did not mean she would not allow herself a slight headache from having to listen to him for too long.

"Disinfectants, suture kits, all accounted for. Have set aside a few items compatible with quarian physiology, just in case."

"Good, now get the--"

They were interrupted by a clanging in the hall, and the doors swinging open to reveal one mess of a scene.

Shepard was laid out on a stretcher, head lolling, barely conscious. There was a lot of blood: a head wound, probably another somewhere on his torso. Taylor trailed behind, one arm hanging limp and bloody against his side. Tali followed after them, dazed and clearly uncertain about what to do with herself. The front of her suit was covered in blood, but luckily it was the wrong colour.

Chakwas signaled Patel toward Taylor, Smith to the shivering quarian, while she and Mordin guided Shepard's stretcher closer to the surgical machines. At least he had worn a helmet this time. A great big stroke of luck, as the shot probably would have blown his head clean off otherwise, Cerberus upgrades or no. A bullet had made a noticeable dent in the helmet's side, and the visor had shattered nearly completely. A cluster of bullets had hit him in the chest, most of them stopped by the armor, but at least one had broken through.

They set about taking off the armor, observations relayed in clipped sentences as they took stock of his condition. He had suffered mostly superficial injuries. It was luckily not as bad as it looked. The medigel had just set badly.

Tali was still in the room, shunted awkwardly into a corner. Chakwas met Smith's eyes from where he had moved over to Taylor. He glanced at Tali and nodded.

"Tali, you can go clean up now," Chakwas called over to her, preparing the dose that would put Shepard out for the duration. Tali faltered, but had enough wits about her to makes herself move eventually.

"Shock possible. Sending her off, really best solution?" Mordin asked, bent over scanner readings.

"Well, yes, I suppose watching her Commander bleed out all over the place is much less traumatising."

Mordin sniffed. Chakwas looked past him to Patel and Smith.

"And how is Mr. Taylor?"

"It's not too bad," Patel called, "but I'm not sure I want to touch it before one of you has a look."

"Smith, go after Tali, see that she's okay. You hang in there for a minute, Jacob."

Both men nodded, Taylor glancing at Shepard before setting his jaw and looking grimly away.

The bulk of the operation only took about an hour--the bullet, caught against a rib, came out clean, and the rest was all simple, mechanical clean-up and cauterisation. The worst of it over and done with, Mordin left her to check on Taylor's injuries. He was actually worse off, ironically enough--broken bones on his shoulder, and he was also looking at several bouts of tendon reconstruction. Taylor would be out of commission for at least a week, while Shepard would be up and walking in just a few of hours.

And speak of the devil, the man groaned and started to shift even while Chakwas was still trying to clean a cut along his arm. Damn Cerberus--a higher tolerance for anesthetics was among the last things their intrepid Commander needed.

"Commander?" Chakwas called, rising to hold him down by the shoulder. He did not try too hard to rouse himself, thankfully, and woke without a fuss, squinting at the ceiling.

He tried to speak, then to cough, which set him back with a gasp and a grimace.

"Oh, goddamn that hurt," he ground out between shallow breaths. Chakwas sighed and let go, trusting him to know his own limits.

"Getting shot tends to do that," she deadpanned, sitting down again to finish her work. Shepard stayed down, only turning his head to Mordin and Taylor.

"Jacob. That as bad as it looks?" he rasped. Taylor smiled tightly and twitched his uninjured shoulder, apparently an attempt to shrug.

"Nothing modern medicine won't painfully cure. Glad to have you back with us, Commander."

"Didn't realize I was gone in the first place," Shepard said. He frowned and looked to Chakwas. "How long was I out?"

"Can't say. You've been in here for nearly three hours, but you were in and out of consciousness on the way here. Can't you remember?"

The frown deepened. "Not much after we reached the shuttle, no... Tali. Is she okay?"

Taylor snorted. "She damn well better be. You nearly lost a lung for that stunt, from what I hear."

Chakwas, intrigued, turned to the younger man. "What stunt? Do I even want to know?"

"Shepard here thought he could take on a shotgun, nearly point-blank," Taylor explained, a teasing smirk on his lips.

"Surprisingly suicidal, not to mention idiotic," Mordin interjected. "Do hope there's a better explanation."

Shepard sighed, shaking his head at the ceiling. "It was either that, or risk Tali taking the brunt of it. I can take a couple of hits--her suit? Not so much."

That killed the teasing atmosphere quite effectively enough. Chakwas and Mordin returned to their work, while Shepard and Jacob exchanged a few more words before falling silent, both lost in their own thoughts.

Later that night, Chakwas found herself on the port observation deck. Alone for once, with only a bottle of bitter asari liquor to keep her company. Kasumi had gone to--well, whatever it was a professional thief did to pass time on a ship. It wasn't that Chakwas disliked the woman; It was just that she could never quite allow herself to relax around such keen eyes. She had a feeling that she would come out of any encounter with her just a few too many secrets lighter.

The door pinged and opened. Chakwas was not really surprised to see that it was the Commander striding inside, though she admitted that the observation decks were not where she normally would have expected to find him. Though, in hindsight, it was probably not all that strange that a stiff drink would be the first thing on your mind after a near death experience.

"Commander," she greeted him, raising her glass. "I do believe you're not supposed to be up yet."

"Mordin gave me the all clear," he said, helping himself to a drink. Chakwas could see no discomfort in his movements, so she let it slide, swirling the liquid in her glass and enjoying the companionable silence.

Shepard did not settle on sipping at his drink; Everything went down the hatch with just one manly grimace. Typical military bravado. Maybe she did need to adjust her image of him after all.

"That was a bit of a gamble earlier, you know," Chakwas said. "Just a little bit more to the left, just one slip-up anywhere along the line, and you could have wound up in bed for weeks. Or worse."

He shrugged, began to pour himself another. "It was an acceptable risk. If Tali had taken the heat, it would have been bad. I'm built sturdier than some. Statistics."

Chakwas pursed her lips, set her glass down with a clank. "Statistics?"

She looked at him sternly.

"Let me tell you something about statistics, Commander. They don't leave much margin for sentimentality."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "And?"

"If you were to die, what do you think would happen to the rest of us?"

He looked away, turned back to his drink.

"As sorry as I am to say this, statistics dictate that letting someone else take the shot for you, even if it gets them killed, is preferable to any permanent injury you might sustain."

Chakwas paused. Shepard had tensed and was gripping his glass just a little too tightly. He knew, of course--didn't mean he did not need to hear it.

"I would prefer none of you ever need my help, of course. But the Illusive Man has been quite thorough about filling this crew with people who don't make friends easily. They all answer to you, for now, but that's about it. I don't question her competence, but leading a group like this? Miranda wouldn't last a day."

Chakwas waited, watching him. Eventually he relented, sighing and lifting his drink in a toast.

"To unhappy truths," he said simply.

She didn't join him. He downed drink in one go and rose to leave. He gave her a wry smile, then turned away.

Chakwas watched the doors close and shook her head, her thirst forgotten. Shepard was no fool. But neither was she.

If he had to and whenever he could, he would take that shot again and again. Not because of bravado, not because he thought himself a hero--because of boundaries, because that was where he drew the line between himself and a beast.

* * *

(AN: I hope it doesn't turn out that quarians _did_ have red blood in the game and I just missed it D:)


End file.
